


when the party's over

by ungratefulambassador



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-08-29 01:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ungratefulambassador/pseuds/ungratefulambassador
Summary: AU where you meet Kiba at a bar





	1. quiet when i'm coming home

    _27 October 20XX_

         The wind nipped at your cheeks as you walked down the street, thick sweater utterly useless once the temperature had dropped into the negatives. It was Friday night, and you had been looking forward to heading back to your apartment, curling up in a bundle of blankets, and hopefully falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. _It’s been a long week._

              You had been living on your own for eight months now and it was kind of getting to you – working all day, coming home to a big old empty room with so few possessions it looked like no one lived there at all. You celebrated your 20th birthday by getting soundly drunk on cheap tequila that burned your throat when you swallowed it and waltzed across the cracked linoleum in the soft arms of the huge teddy bear your little sister gave you as a graduation present. It felt really good in the moment, but you learned the hard way that the only thing worse than tasting that tequila once was tasting it twice. Still, all in good fun, right?

              Finally, you reached your building – but a throbbing beat seeping from the windows immediately above indicated that your rowdy neighbours were back at it again. You sighed and rested your forehead against the cold, thick metal of the door, taking a moment to think before shoving your keys back in your bag and turning back the way you came. _I’ll go to the bar for a few, just until it calms down a little,_ you thought.

              In less than ten minutes, you had comfortably situated yourself on the least wobbly barstool and placed your order. The happy buzz of the other patrons at tables behind you helped to drown out how empty you felt; it had been a long time since you had met up with anyone. Honestly, you couldn’t be bothered, but you’d hoped that someone would reach out. Anyone, really. But it was fine. You gratefully accepted your drink from the bartender – a blueberry vodka lemonade with a hot pink crazy straw – and felt your cheeks hollow out as you took the biggest possible sip one could take from previously described crazy straw. Damn, that was good. After a while, you got tired of sipping and cut out the offensively pink middleman, downing the rest of the drink in a few gulps. You knew that drinking that fast wasn’t exactly beneficial, but – _fuck it. It’s Friday._

              “Damn. TGIF, I guess?”

              Your head whipped around to make eye contact with the bartender a few meters to your left. A wry half-smile played across his lips, elbow carelessly propped up on the bar. His dark eyes flashed with mischief and you could feel the blood rush to your cheeks under his gaze.

              “Yeah, well,” you mumbled. “It’s been a long week.”

              He cocked an eyebrow.

              “Fine, a long month.”

              His eyebrow continued its quest toward his hairline.

              “Eight months.” You sighed. You didn’t know why you were admitting this to your friendly local barkeep; maybe your drink had more alcohol in it than you’d originally thought.

              He nodded and retrieved a cloth from his back pocket, wiping down the counter – heading towards you, unstealthily if you might add. He put a large hand down and offered you the other. You took it.

              “I’m Kiba.”

              His voice is smooth and deep and soft, like waking up under a heavy down duvet on a grey winter morning.

              “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

              “Likewise. Well, I’d better get back to work, but--” Kiba hesitated. “I’ll get you another drink. It’s on me.” He shot you a smile, a real one this time, with teeth. You noticed his canines ended in little points, like a dog’s. _Cute._

You thanked him and watched as he left to tend to the other customers, idly sipping your drink and silently dreading the cold walk back to your place.


	2. i could lie, say i like it like that

You pushed the bar door open and made your way to your now usual spot at the bar, leaning your forehead on the polished wood and letting out a groan. Somehow when you brought yourself to lift your head, Kiba was already positioned directly across from you, chin resting on his hand, his lazy smile and warm gaze aimed right at you. At the risk of causing rumours surrounding your probable alcoholism, you’d been visiting the bar nearly every night since that cold snap two months ago – the evenings that you did return home immediately seemed eternally dull and never-ending. It didn’t hurt that the bartender was cute, though.

              “Hey, cutie.” Kiba winked conspiratorially at you before leaning in dangerously close. “What can I get for you on this lovely Wednesday evening?”

              You let a hint of a smile creep onto your face. “Still thinking.”

              Kiba glanced around – Wednesdays were never that busy – and since the only other customers were an elderly couple having dinner in the far corner, he walked around the bar and took the seat next to you.

              “Hey,” you protested (kind of weakly), “aren’t you on the clock?”

              He gave you a searching look. “Well, yeah,” he said. “I’ll ask the boss though if it bothers you that much. Hey, boss, mind if I take a short break?” This he directed over the bar at – no one. There was no one there. You furrowed your brow and were about to ask if he’d gone off his rocker completely when he interrupted, “No worries Kiba, take all the time you need.”

              Interest piqued, you sat up. “So. This is your bar, then.”

              He nodded. “Parents retired, went off to travel the world. Left me this beaut. She’s an old gal, but she’s mine.” He patted the bar fondly. “But enough about me. Y/N… got any plans for Christmas?”

              Your cheeks warmed a little. “…no, not really,” you admitted. “Probably just me and a bottle of wine. Or two.”

              Christmas really was coming up quickly, too. Only ten days left.

              You catch a flicker of something in Kiba’s eyes before it quickly disappears. “Oh, yeah? No, uh… boyfriend, or anything like that?” His eyes looked almost through you, his lips parted in thought. His tongue flickered across his sharp canines, and you let out a shuddering breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. _Fuck._

              You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. Sitting there, so close to him… you couldn’t deny the pull you felt. The ripple of his back muscles under that black tee, the soft rasp of his voice, his brown eyes always dancing, so full of light and energy. Maybe you were just lonely because you’d been living alone, so alone, for so long now. It had been ages since you’d felt human touch…

              You realized he was still waiting for your answer, eyes trained on you.

              “Oh! Uh, no. No boyfriend. Or anything.” You had never blushed this hard in your life. For God’s sake, you were acting like an old spinster! It wasn’t like you were a child when it came to relationships, you’d had your fair share. It had been a long time since you’d felt such a physical attraction to someone though.

              Kiba’s smile deepened – could he read your mind? “So, Y/N… this might seem kind of sudden, but – what are you doing Saturday night?”


	3. call me friend but

              You flushed pink and nodded, traded cell numbers on clean bar napkins and said goodnight. There was a new spark in Kiba’s eyes as you waved goodbye, you noticed, and felt a tiny thrill run all through your body, down into your fingertips.

The next two work days flew by as you daydreamed, cheeks warm, a new energy in your walk. Evenings you quickly walked home and tidied your nearly empty apartment – _just in case_ , you thought, blushing furiously, _just in case_ – swept the linoleum with gusto, dusted every crevice, washed your bedsheets and hung them out to dry on one cool, sunny morning. It wasn’t perfect by any means; there was a still that funny stain on your kitchen ceiling that you just couldn’t scrub out and a crack in the bathroom mirror, but standing back and observing your work with hands on hips, you felt pretty proud of yourself. You had just enough energy remaining to have a pre-bedtime shower before you leapt into bed to toss and turn all night, full of excitement and anticipation.

              Saturday morning slunk by slower than the most slothful snail – your apartment was already spotless, so cleaning wouldn’t be a meaningful enough distraction. You were somewhere between pure unadulterated emotional exhaustion and vibrating straight out of your skin from restlessness. You settled for blasting some dance music, hopping around like a goddamn madwoman, and lipsyncing like you were Britney Spears fucking incarnate. Perhaps your apartment was clearly visible through the windows from the street below, and perhaps a few people stopped to watch and laugh, but also perhaps you really couldn’t give a shit at that particular moment in time. Not to worry, however: you remembered to stop every once in a while to drink some water and have lunch at a normal time; thank God for that.

              To calm your nerves, you got dressed early – nothing fancy, just a cropped tee paired with flowy harem pants – and had a couple shots of that tequila from your birthday, still tucked safely behind a box of instant ramen cups. Before you could get too tipsy, fortunately, unfortunately, it was nine o’clock: time to meet him.

              Your phone rang. _Kiba._ You drew in a deep breath. _Probably going to cancel._ You let it out, picked up.

              “Hey.”

              “Hey, Y/N,” he said softly – was he tired already? “I just wanted to check in with you about our date–" Your heart stuttered. “—would it be alright if we didn’t go out tonight? I’m honestly exhausted, I barely slept last night.” You were about to jump in to say of course, no worries, maybe some other time, but then—“Would you mind just coming over to my place instead?”


End file.
